


Winter When She Goes

by dreamiflame



Category: La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/pseuds/dreamiflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beast during Beauty's two months away, waiting for spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter When She Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta for cheerleading, handholding, and lightning fast edits.
> 
> I used the Lang version of Beauty and the Beast, from the Blue Fairy Book. Hope you enjoy.

Time lay heavy on the castle. The Beast roamed, opening the doors one after another, then shutting up the rooms again and walking on. The birds, the library, the musical instruments, nothing brought him any joy.

It was quieter, now that Beauty had gone.

Yet, how could he have denied her? Her heart, so generous and full of love, even for those worthless sisters of hers, was the thing that drew him most to her. Beast slammed another door shut and stalked to hers, carved with roses and jewels. He hovered one grotesque paw above the handle, but turned away without opening it.

She wasn’t inside, to give him leave to enter. He would not disrespect her privacy this way.

Beast prowled back to the room with the birds, and let their songs and chatter fill his ears, taking away a little of the silence weighing him down. Two months, she promised. In two months his Beauty would return. Beast snarled, scaring the more timid birds away. Wings fluttering, they scolded him from a greater height, a feather or two landing among the fur of his head. He ignored their mocking.

Two months. How would he ever survive?

*

The trees were shedding their leaves in response to his mood. Beast stood in the garden and glared at the orange trees, at the roses, at everything Beauty had touched and delighted in. Once, it had all delighted him too. Now, he paced restlessly in the garden, no more able to find peace here than in his castle.

He could go to the room with the windows, Beast knew, and let them show him his Beauty, what she was doing and wearing, who she spoke with, the joy she was taking in her family, her father and brothers and even those dreadful sisters. But he had made that mistake already, more than once, and when he rose from the chair and the curtain moved back across the window, the castle seemed more dreary than ever. No. He could not afford the pain of the windows anymore.

Even sleep was no relief. Once, he had slept well, free from the hideous form he wore during the day. More recently, he had walked as his true self with Beauty in her dreams, and felt their hearts knit more tightly together. But now she was too far away for the magic to connect them, and even the relief of his human body was not enough. He missed his Beauty, more and more by the hour.

She would return, he was sure of it. Beauty was faithful and loyal, and she had given her word. But the date of her return was so far away, and the Beast wondered at his own strength. Surely he had lived well enough on his own before she came. How could her absence change so much in his life?

*

The days dragged on. In the gardens, winter came as it never had before, and frost etched itself into fanciful shapes on the windows. The Beast sank further into despair, and sat for hours before the window, letting images of Beauty laughing with her brothers dance before his eyes. When his heart filled to bursting, he would shove himself up with a curse, and wander the halls of his castle, visiting all her favorite places. He took the books she had loved from the shelves, claws gentle on their fragile pages, but the words swam before his eyes and he could not bring himself to focus on them.

If only he could have told Beauty the truth! He was the handsome Prince she spoke to in her dreams, and when she consented to marry this Beast form, it would melt away to be replaced by the one she admired. But that was part of the spell, to never speak of it. Beast placed the books on the shelf where she had left them, and hurtled himself out of the library. He felt torn to pieces, at once desperate to be close to everything Beauty loved, and frantic to get away from everything that reminded him she was gone. There was no rest for him.

He made his way to the music room, but his paws were no longer suited to the delicate instruments within. Beauty would sing and play for hours, but he had not her skill, and without her lilting voice to lead his deeper tenor, the Beast had no desire to sing. He slammed the door so hard the walls shook and stalked onward, trying to find something to comfort the ache in his heart.

Two months. She’d promised. Soon, soon, his Beauty would return to him, and the castle would be full of her voice and laugh and scent. They would eat together, and the food would have savor again, and talk together and the sound of his own voice would no longer drive him mad. Soon.

It would never been soon enough.

*

Two months, and the gardens were starting to melt again into spring. The Beast felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation and joy bubbling within him, and the gardens reflected that. At his command the castle was tidying itself up, linens freshly laundered and laid upon Beauty’s bed, all of her dresses neatly pressed and scented, her favorite foods cooking themselves in the kitchen.

The Beast himself took particular care with his grooming. He stared unflinchingly at the ugly face in the mirror while a comb brushed out two months’ worth of knots and debris from his fur. He debated the various suits of clothes, finely made but hideously tailored to fit his unsightly form. Beauty seemed to like both red and blue, and he tried each suit on, attempting to make a decision.

He barely slept, so excited to have his Beauty return. Turn the ring on your finger, he urged her silently, along the miles that separated them. Say you wish to return to me. Near dawn he fell into a light doze, expecting any moment to be awoken by her return, as the castle brought her back.

It was noon when he awoke, the clock softly chiming twelve repetitions of his name. His name. Not hers.

Beauty had not returned.

Beast could feel the despair within him rising again. But perhaps she had just lost track of the days. Beauty was home, with her family, happy and light as he could never be without her. She would come tomorrow.

He told himself that for days, his heart sinking more each time the clock chimed his name instead of hers. At last he had to face the truth. His Beauty, who he had believed so honest, so true of heart, had lied to him. She was never coming back.

In the blackest of moods, the Beast stumbled out to the gardens, his heart paining him more than ever. He had told Beauty it would cost him his life, and it had. He did not regret the choice, not when she had looked at him with such joy after he had agreed to let her go. Still, he had hoped she would be faithful.

Step by step, he lurched his way through the gardens, making his way to the path to the cave. A fitting place for an animal such as he to die, the Beast thought, and laid himself down.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer's "Winter When He Goes." It was originally written from the man's perspective.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Winter When She Goes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515285) by [Night (Night_Inscriber)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Inscriber/pseuds/Night)




End file.
